


and the answer comes

by theamazingpeterparker (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Zayn, Flower Child Harry, Fluff and Angst, Frat Boy Niall, Lawyer Louis, M/M, Past Niall Horan/Zayn Malik, Pining, baseball player liam, harry doesnt even work at the bakery, why cant i tag things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theamazingpeterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An American college AU where Zayn has trouble explaining things, Louis argues with everyone, Niall keeps them together, Harry has an affinity for Thoreau, and Liam tries to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

_“i knew you_  
 _before_  
 _i met you._  
 _i’ve known you my whole life.” — nayyirah waheed_

Zayn knows that everyone is kind of floundering at 19, hopeless and confused about where they’re going to go, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. He feels like he’s not going to be one of the people who makes it to the shores of adulthood, and if he sinks then nobody will try to find him at the bottom of the ocean. Zayn is suddenly very worried about his swimming abilities when there’s a pair of brown eyes in front of him that are like rich soil that flowers sprout from and Zayn thinks the flowers might be hidden behind this boy’s smile. He almost feels guilty comparing the boy’s eyes to that of, well, dirt, but he means it in the most endearing way possible, he really does. He tries to replace the analogy; the boy has eyes like an oak tree, eyes like autumn leaves, eyes like—

“Coffee.”

“Sorry?” Zayn stammers, blushes, nearly drops his books.

The boy smiles curiously and repeats, “here’s your coffee.”

Zayn blurts a thank you and stuffs a few spare bills in the tip jar, his way of apologizing for the blip in his attention span. He’s just struggling, is the thing. He’s acing all his classes and he’s getting eight hours of sleep and three meals a day, but there’s something heavy in his chest that makes the rest of him feel too hollow. He doesn’t go out to parties and he doesn’t hook up with people; he spends his days in the library and his nights in his dorm. He’s got his poems and art and books and homework but it’s not what he’s craving. He’s not craving chemicals or orgasms. He doesn’t know what he’s craving, but right now he thinks he’s craving a sugar cookie, just for an excuse to see the brown-eyed boy behind the counter again.

Zayn rarely gives into any craving that isn’t a cigarette, though, so instead he gathers his things and heads back to his dorm. When he gets back, Niall is spread-eagle on his bed, trying to hold down the corners of his bedsheet with each hand and foot. Zayn stands in the doorway for a few moments, enjoying the view, before he walks across the room and smacks Niall’s ass.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Niall grunts, fidgeting a little in his struggle to keep the corners down. “Help me.”

Zayn obliges, going over and grabbing the sheet at the foot of the bed and helping Niall pull it over the mattress.

“You bring me back any?” Niall asks once he flops over onto his back, the rest of the blankets and pillows for his bed forgotten when he sees Zayn’s coffee. Zayn’s fingers tighten unconsciously around the cup and he looks down at it; “ZAYN” is scrawled on the side. It’s the first time anyone has spelled his name right on his order.

“No,” Zayn says, the softness in his voice his way of apologizing. Niall just shrugs and squirms to the edge of the bed, flopping over to reach the minifridge between their mattresses.

“Do you know…uh, the kid who works the café?” Zayn asks as Niall snaps open a Red Bull. He only asks Niall because Niall knows everyone. To be fair, Louis knows everyone too, but Louis isn’t as gentle as Niall is.

“Ahh, Nick? Tall, douchey-hair? Jade, cute girl with long hair? Liam? Kid with brown eyes?” Niall rattles off as he gets up and starts tossing the rest of his blankets onto the bed.

“Liam?” Zayn tests it, lets it fall off his tongue and settle behind his teeth for safe-keeping.

Niall just gives Zayn a tiny smile and nods. “Yeah. Liam. I think he’s a history major.”

Zayn doesn’t have much time to think about this new information, because Louis is bursting into the dorm. Louis and Niall are bright enough that Zayn can dim himself into the background. Zayn only gives Niall a pleading look, asking him silently to not bring up Liam to Louis. Niall gives him a reassuring wink in return.

“Zayn, I’ll blow you if you write my French paper for me,” is the first thing out of Louis’s mouth after he manages to wrestle Niall’s energy drink into his own hands for a sip.

Zayn raises a reluctant eyebrow and tucks himself into the desk chair with his coffee. “Don’t think any paper is worth having you near my dick, Lou.”

Louis falls onto the bed and pouts while Niall sets up their Xbox. Zayn is soon forgotten when FIFA boots up and he’s free to cut himself out of the conversation. Louis doesn’t bother asking Niall for help with the paper—Niall’s going into the architecture, and can hardly speak proper English. This week, Zayn is a philosophy and religion major with a minor in art history, though the week before he was considering switching to engineering, and the week before that, he was considering dropping out and moving to South Africa. Louis is locked into Political Science and International Studies, determined to go into law or government purely for the sake of being able to argue with people for the rest of his life. He’ll be fucking good at it too, Zayn knows, but only if he focuses more on the academic part of college instead of the social part of college.

The three of them fall in with each other easily, though. Zayn will help Louis with his paper and Louis will explain the logistics of Socrates to Zayn, and Niall will be their saving grace during finals week when they’re preparing to rip each other’s throats out. They slotted together at the end of high school. People were “concerned” about Zayn. His parents and counselor threw around words like “depression”, “anxiety disorder”, “introverted”. Zayn thought it was absolute bullshit, so to prove his parents wrong he latched onto Niall and therefore latched onto Louis, started smoking and going out and doing “normal teenage things”. (His mother seemed relieved when he started smoking. Like it was a step towards Zayn being a normal teenage boy. Zayn wonders if he was ever really the problem at all, and maybe it was his parents lack of understanding.) 

Louis does leave after an hour to finish his paper before he and Niall go out. They’ll always offer to bring Zayn along, but he never goes. “He’s not about that life,” Louis will joke, and Zayn will laugh but as soon as his friends leave he’ll curl up in bed with a book or his laptop and he’ll fall asleep before Niall gets back. And when Niall gets back, he’ll be drunk and clingy and insist on sleeping in Zayn’s bed and Zayn will let him.

Sure enough, Niall and Louis are headed out to a frat house that night and Zayn finally has time to work on his book assignment. He lasts about ten minutes before he’s getting out of bed. He’s absolutely restless and he has no idea why—he throws out the old coffee cup from a month ago that’s holding his paintbrushes and replaces it with the cup from today (it has nothing to do with Liam, it definitely doesn’t), rips out old sketches that he suddenly hates looking at. He cleans his whole side of the dorm, restacking his precariously balanced tower of books so it doesn’t fall every time he goes to hit the alarm on his clock. He goes to the fridge to grab a drink to find it’s nearly empty and Zayn decides this is the perfect time to go venture around campus in search of something caffeinated (it has nothing to do with Liam, it definitely doesn’t).

It’s nearly 9:30 on a Saturday night, but Zayn doesn’t know why he’s so surprised that the coffee shop is so empty. Liam is still at the register and Zayn is doing his best to act cool and collected, stalking along the row of coffee beans and mugs for a few minutes.

He gets up to the counter, this order much more intimidating than the one from this morning, especially because Liam is giving him the same small, expectant smile, waiting for Zayn to actually speak. Before he can, though, there’s a loud clatter from the kitchen and a boy with a mess of curls covered in flour comes tripping through the doors.

“ _Jesus_ , Harry,” Liam breathes softly, obviously torn between whether or not he should take Zayn’s order first or make sure the kid is okay.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! Don’t mind me!” The boy—Harry, presumably—chirps somewhat hysterically. He grabs a handful of napkins, a pot, and a gallon of milk before he disappears back into the kitchen. Liam turns slowly back to Zayn, his brow dipping into a frown. “Sorry. Ah. There’s no fire alarms going off yet, so there’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Zayn tries to pull his mouth into a smile but he can’t quite manage it, and he’s almost positive he’s staring at Liam like a deer caught in headlights. “Can I get a cappuccino?” he manages to spit out around his terrified smile. “And, uh. Blueberry muffin?”

Liam nods and plucks up a cup, waiting expectantly for Zayn to say his name. And that. That almost hurts. Zayn’s not entirely sure why, it’s not like he expected Liam to remember his name, but. There’s not _that_ many people named Zayn on campus, is there?

“Zayn,” he says softly. Liam nobs and scribbles on the cup, biting his lip in concentration, before he gives Zayn a smile and storms back into the kitchen.

“ _Harry!_ ” Zayn hears moments later. “Can you stop making a mess for, like, four seconds and get me your best muffin?”

“Bossy,” comes the drawling reply, and then Harry comes tripping back behind the counter. He flashes a smile to Zayn and goes to the other end of the display case, digging around the open glass until he plucks up the biggest muffin on the tray.

“Made these myself,” he says with a huge grin as he plops the snack in a brown bag and leans across the counter. “I don’t even work here. I don’t even _work_ here and Liam still bosses me around.”

“You don’t work here?” Zayn repeats slowly, and Harry nods with a hugely enthusiastic smile that makes his mouth look too big for his face. Before he can elaborate, Liam pushes back into the room with Zayn’s drink, drizzled with whipped cream and steaming hot.

“Harry’s a stress baker,” Liam explains, nudging his friend out of the way of the cash register. “So we let him use the kitchen and he makes us delicious treats and he sucks Nick off as thanks for allowing him access to our bakery.”

Harry blushes a furious red and kicks Liam in the shin, though Liam seems unphased as he hands over Zayn’s order. Again, Zayn’s name is spelled right. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is.

“You spelled my name right,” he says softly as he fumbles to grab a napkin. He’s stalling. He still feels like he hasn’t found the right analogy for Liam’s eyes, so he puts his things down on the counter again and digs into his pocket for his wallet.

Liam raises an eyebrow and smiles warmly. “Not many other Zayn’s on campus,” he says with a shrug. Zayn plucks out a few spare bills and drops them in the tip jar, though this time he’s not apologizing.

“No, you don’t understand, I’ve been coming to this café since freshman year and I’ve never had anyone spell it right. I’ve gotten Sane, Zany, _Sam_ , Zane, Bane, Lame…”

“Liam knows you, that’s why,” Harry pipes up. He’s rewarded with a smack to the back of his head and now Liam is blushing, and Zayn thinks it’s probably one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“I mean, like. I’ve seen you around,” Liam says, shifting uncomfortably and giving Harry a hard shove to the shoulder. Harry lets out a wild cackle before he trips back behind the doors. Zayn idly thinks that that’s the only word to describe how Harry moves, tripping over his feet and moving like everything is too much in his way.

“You’re an art major?” Liam asks, and Zayn pulls his eyes back to meet Liam’s.

“I was, freshman year. I switched. Now I’m Philosophy and Religion.”

Liam frowns, like this news upsets him. “You were good, though. At art, I mean. I used to see you drawing on the baseball field. Why’d you switch? I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

Zayn is trying not to fidget. He’s trying to remain calm and cool and collected but it’s not quite working, and before he knows it he’s already tearing his napkin into little pieces all over the counter.

“I’m making a mess,” he says quietly when he realizes what he’s doing. If Niall were here, he’d know that Zayn’s tone was his way of apologizing. Liam doesn’t know about how Zayn communicates, though, so Zayn immediately starts bumbling out ‘sorry’s profusely as he sweeps the napkin bits into his palm. “It’s. Um. Kind of a long story,” he finally says after he’s leaned over and dumped the napkin into the nearest trashcan.  If he’s being honest, though, he’d tell Liam the whole story. And his heart swells when Liam grins and waves a broad hand around the empty shop. “We seem to have all the time in the world, mate.”

Zayn shrugs and slides into a table nearest the counter. He almost drops his muffin when Liam slides his apron off over his head, arms flexing under his t-shirt, but he manages to keep himself composed until Liam sits across from him and Zayn nearly chokes on his cappuccino.

“You were really good with your art,” Liam says softly as Zayn averts his eyes and starts pushing his cup between his palms.

“Thank you,” Zayn murmurs, and damn him if this whole conversation is going to be awkward smiles and embarrassing blushes. “I, um, I just switched because I don’t want to, you know, not have any options. After this. Philosophy has more doors to be opened, I guess.”

Liam has known Zayn all of half an hour and he’s already giving the artist a look like he doesn’t believe him. “I’m History Education,” Liam says after a moment of eyeing Zayn skeptically. “American history, specifically. I want to teach high school.”

Zayn is fidgeting again, tapping his thumb irritably against the side of his cup. This isn’t exactly where he saw this night going.

“I think about dropping out, like, every half an hour,” Zayn half-jokes, though the humor doesn’t quite reach his face. He waits for Liam’s reaction wearily—usually, saying the words “drop out” to any college students elicits a reaction similar to if Zayn had said “I think about starting an international sex and drug trade”, but Liam just waits patiently for Zayn to continue. So he does. “It’s just like. I was never really set on college, you know? It was just kind of expected of me?” Something new bubbles up in Zayn’s belly, and instead of being worried about telling someone all of this, he’s suddenly desperate to. He needs to know if anyone else understands him. “It was expected of me, so I took out all the loans and packed up my shit and hugged my parents and here I am, right? But I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t want to be here. But it’s either be here for four years or be out on the streets working. I don’t have any other options. Everything I like isn’t “practical” for a job. And it pisses me off, you know, like when people say they want to be an accountant. Really? When they were ten years old, do you think they wanted to be an _accountant_? What happened to all the astronauts and rockstars, all the—“

“We can’t all float around in space, Zayn,” Liam pipes up with a playful grin. Had anyone else said this to him, Zayn would’ve blown up. But Liam’s different, and instead Zayn slumps in his chair. “Nobody seems happy when they grow up, is all,” he finishes lamely.

Liam raps his knuckles against the table while Zayn picks at his muffin.

“If I may interject,” Harry chirps from where he’s been frosting a tray of cupcakes behind the counter, “college is not for everyone, Zayn. You’re free to join me on my eventual road trip across the country.”

Liam rolls his eyes and Harry throws a plastic fork at him. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Liam! Zayn, I dropped out last year and I’m planning a roadtrip. You’re free to come along and find yourself. The world is but a canvas to the imagination!”

“Zayn,” Liam says gently, and Zayn turns back to him. “I’m here on a baseball scholarship. There’s not a lot one can do with a history degree, either. When I was ten, I wanted to be a singer. People just grow up. That doesn’t mean they lose their sense of happiness.”

Zayn. Well. Zayn’s kind of pissed off. Because Liam doesn’t get it. The only person in the room who might actually get it has somehow gotten frosting on his cheek. “Good muffins, Harry,” he calls over to the counter, and Liam’s face falls.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Liam tries to patch up quickly, but Zayn’s already gathering his cup and muttering apologies under his breath.

“It’s okay, it’s not you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I’m just kind of stressed out, finals coming up and all you know? I mean, I still draw and stuff. But we all can’t be Michelangelos, right?” his voice is much more biting than he intends to be. This whole conversation just…struck a nerve, is all. Nobody _gets_ it, not Louis with his big lawyer dreams or Niall who wants to build a city named after himself and now Liam, who probably only cares about sports and his job. Liam sits back in his chair, looking thoroughly confused and somewhat resembling a kicked puppy, but all Zayn can do is spit out a few more ‘I’m sorry’s before he pushes the door open and heads back for his dorm.


	2. ii

_"the world is shrinking one empty heartache at a time._  
 _you’re scared you’ll never find anyone to love you, not even well. you’ll settle for anything.” –Caitlyn S. on turning 20_

Zayn hammers out the rest of his paper and catches up on his reading, refueled with caffeine and a new determination to just get everything done and over with. It’s only 12:30 when he finally shuts his laptop, but he’s thrumming with a newfound energy that’s either from the coffee or his annoyance. He digs out his sketchbook and colored pencils and starts sketching his coffee cup, soft scratches across the page and easy lines until he has to find the right color for the liquid inside. Before he starts coloring, he sketches an eye in the corner of the page, chews the end of his pencil and debates whether or not to color that brown, too. He’s not sure if he’s trying to match the color of the coffee or the color of Liam’s eyes, but either way, Zayn can’t get it quite right and gives up, abandoning the sketchbook on the floor and burrowing into bed.

Niall stumbles back into the room at 4AM, smelling like weed and tequila. He’s giggling quietly to himself, but the noise is enough to wake Zayn up. There’s a thump and Niall cursing softly, and when Zayn rolls over, Niall is on the floor, trying to wiggle out of his jeans with a determined look on his face. “Time for sleepin, sleepin’ time, time for pajamas. Pajammie-jams. Sleepin’ socks. Z, can I sleep with you?” Niall is singing quietly and he looks up when Zayn rolls over to squint at him. Without waiting for an answer, Niall pops to his feet and crawls in next to Zayn, snuffling softly into his neck and mumbling, “how was your night?”

“Went to see Liam,” Zayn replies quietly, scuffing a hand through Niall’s matted hair. The younger boy hums and leans into the touch, tightening his grip around Zayn.

“That’s good. Good, good. Y’deserve a nice boy.”

“Go to sleep, Niall.”

“Mmm’kay, boss.”

When Zayn wakes up, he’s alone. This should surprise him, but after years of being Niall’s friend, he’s learned that Niall is a morning person and no amount of alcohol will change that. What does surprise him is the fact that his sketchbook that he had thrown to the floor last night is now sitting on his desk, open to the coffee cup and eye he drew the previous night. Niall never usually snoops, and maybe he was still drunk and curious when he looked through it, but something unpleasant settles in Zayn’s gut that stays there until he’s walking back to his dorm from the showers.

Niall and Louis are already in the room, coffee cups and pastry bags strewn across the floor and the two boys hunched over a stack of books.

“Morning,” Niall chirps when Zayn comes in, nodding to a Styrofoam cup with “Zane” scribbled on the side that’s sitting on his desk. Niall is already dressed and has a line of neon green across his cheek from where he’s been holding his highlighter in his mouth. Louis, on the other hand, looks like he’s just crawled out of the depths of hell, scruff stubbling his jawline and his hood pulled as far over his head as it can reach. He grumbles a hello while Zayn tugs a hoodie over his head and sits on his bed, reaching for his cup. “You didn’t go to the bookstore café?”

Niall gives Zayn a careful look and shakes his head. “The one in the student center is closer. It’s too cold to go all the way to the bookstore.”               

Zayn rubs his finger against the sharpie on his cup, watching Niall help Louis with his Calculus review. There’s a shift between the three of them, something that has happened between last night and this morning, and Zayn doesn’t want to bring it up. It’s probably nothing, but the fact that Niall looked through Zayn’s sketchbook and then brought breakfast from the student center café, the café that Niall _knows_ Zayn hates, is setting Zayn’s nerves on edge. He cracks the window above his bed and fishes a cigarette out of the pack on his nightstand, ignoring the disgruntled protest from Louis and holding the first breath of smoke in his lungs as long as he can before letting it leak out of his mouth.  

The thing is, Zayn and Niall were a thing. Not for very long, and not even very officially. It was the end of high school and Zayn was caught up in Niall’s smile and the summer sun and he was just _happy_. They were going to the same college in the fall and they were going to be roommates and Niall was Zayn’s and Zayn was Niall’s and it was that easy. There were never any labels or dramatic discussions or loud declarations of love and commitment. They just fell together quietly, Niall being the only one in Zayn’s life who really understood him without either of them having to say much at all. They had a summer sharing cigarettes and bottles of Jack Daniels and sleeping together in the bed of Niall’s brother’s pick-up truck. There’s still shirts in their dorm now that they’re not really sure who it even belonged to in the beginning, and Niall has still kept little things from Zayn; scribbled napkins from late nights in diners or photobooth clips from trips to the beach. They’re still that close, just without the sex. But once college started, Zayn got more distant and Niall got closer to Louis. They never really “broke up”—Zayn’s not really sure if they were ever “together” enough to consider even calling it a break up. They’ve found their spaces away from each other but there’s still nobody else that Zayn would trust as much as Niall, but sometimes it’s just hard. It’s hard because Niall goes out to parties with Louis and leaves Zayn behind, and even though Niall always, always, _always_ comes back to the dorm and crawls into Zayn’s bed, sometimes Zayn just feels left out. 

“You wanna come out with us tonight, Zayn?” Louis pipes up after a while. Niall is still bent over Louis’s textbook, brow furrowed in concentration, but Louis started folding paper airplanes twenty minutes ago, already giving up on his homework. Zayn knows Niall will remain hunched over the book until he figures out the problem, and so he holds back his response until Niall looks up and grins at him. “Yeah, Z. Come out with us, it’s been a while,” the blonde boy adds in his quiet voice, in the voice he only uses for Zayn. And because Zayn can’t resist Niall’s smile or Louis’s wide, pleading eyes, he agrees.

Zayn prepares himself in the way he knows best; instead of donning his usual beanie and glasses, he pops in his contacts and Niall watches with an amazed smile on his face while Zayn sculpts his hair up into something that’ll probably be ruined within the hour, anyway, so why put in the effort? And shrugs on his leather jacket. Niall whistles, low and appreciative, as Zayn pulls on his clunky black boots and Niall slips into his own denim jacket. “You could make a potato sack look sexy, Malik,” Niall says with a cheeky grin. “I’ll be jealous of you until the day I die.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and shoulders past Niall with a small smile, tucking his phone, wallet, cigarettes and keys into his pockets before Niall gives him a squeeze to the shoulder and they duck out of their dorm to go find Louis.

They reach the first frat house just before 10:00, but there’s already noise and people and light spilling out of the house and Zayn can feel the energy buzzing through his skin before they even make it up the sidewalk. Niall squeezes Zayn’s shoulder again, a quiet reassurance that tonight is supposed to be fun, before he and Louis get eaten up by the people in the front hallway, leaving Zayn alone on the porch.

And Zayn’s going to go into the house. He will. He just…needs a minute. He fumbles for a cigarette, shrinking against the wall of the house and letting the smoke fill his lungs and mouth enough to calm him down. It’s just that Zayn has an addictive personality. If it’s cigarettes or a video game or alcohol or a person, once isn’t enough for him. He immerses himself completely in all of it, whatever it may be. So he’s learned his limits with parties and drugs and drinking and falling in love. But nights like this, where Niall disappears into the heart of a house a mile off campus and leaves Zayn to his own devices for most of the night, it makes it really hard for Zayn to keep his limits.

 He’s about to pull out a second cigarette when someone claps him hard on the shoulder. It’s not a gentle touch like Niall and it’s not a heavy touch like Louis—it’s a confident touch, and it surprises Zayn enough that he whips around and almost burns Harry with his cigarette.

“Holy smokes, muffin!” Harry hisses, jumping back a few steps before he breaks into an enormous grin at his pun (and, yeah, Zayn is totally not surprised at all that Harry thinks puns are funny). Harry’s red button-up shirt is only actually fastened up three or four buttons, the top hanging open to show off two sparrows at his collarbones and the top of what looks to be a butterfly on his stomach. He’s wearing what’s probably a rag around his head, hair and little white daisies tucked around the fabric. Zayn’s not sure if Harry is already drunk or if he’s just this happy _all the time._

“Harry? I thought you---“

“Didn’t go here? Yeah. I don’t. I just want to build a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and—“

“I get it,” Zayn cuts him off, though he can feel himself starting to smile because, yeah, he’s not surprised that Harry is quoting Mean Girls, either. “Did you call me muffin?”

“Yeah. I said ‘Zayn’ this morning to Liam and he got all pissy at me. So that’s your new code-name.” Harry has his arm slung around Zayn’s shoulders now and he’s slowly herding the two of them into the house, but as long as Zayn can anchor himself to someone, he’s okay.

“Is, uh. Is Liam here?”

Harry breaks into another grin that looks like a proud mother boasting about her child’s first crush. “He’s here somewhere. Might not be best to introduce you to him when he’s drunk, though. He gets a little clingy. Come on, let’s do shots. What kind of drunk are you?”

Zayn is also a clingy drunk. A clingy, _talkative_ drunk. Zayn has been attached to Harry’s hip most of the night, and right now he’s sitting on the arm of the couch watching Harry try to tell this girl about the wonders of _Walden_ , but the only thing the girl seems interested in is sucking bruises into Harry’s neck.

“So, he lived there for two years, right, and most people think he went all the way into some random forest, but he was really only a few miles from his hometown, but he managed to completely change the way he looked at life. And I don’t think he gets enough credit, you know, for all the anarchist punk bullshit people get excited about nobody stops to think about how Thoreau was all for civil disobedience, but it goes deeper than that, you know, like, he saw the beauty in everything, just like I…see the beauty in _that_. Holy fucking…Zayn. Zayn. Who’ssat?” Harry whips around so hard to face Zayn that the girl in his lap is thrown off balance, and she lets out an annoyed whimper before crawling off his lap and sulking towards the kitchen. Harrys neck is covered in bruises and red lipstick, his flower-laced headband slightly askew, but he seems to have more pressing concerns as he tugs Zayn down and points across the hall. “Who is _that_.”

Harry is pointing at Louis, who’s leaning against the staircase smoking a cigarette, a beer bottle dangling carelessly in his other hand, and listening to what is surely a thrilling story from the frat boy in front of him. Zayn is so confused he splutters, “Louis?” and Harry jumps to his feet.

“Thanks, Z. That’s all I needed to know.” Zayn barely has time to register what’s going on before Harry is crossing the hallway and going to stand directly in front of Louis. Zayn watches the exchange unravel with a pained expression; Louis is regarding Harry the same way he’d regard a bug, or roadkill, but Harry is already talking, his hands waving around and he’s completely oblivious to Louis’s disinterest. It’s all amusing, in a sad kind of way, until Harry turns and jabs a finger towards Zayn and Louis’ face drops into his all-too-familiar expression of, “why the hell did you subject me to this Zayn, there will be consequences for this” and Zayn pops off the couch and melts into the kitchen before Louis can throttle him.

Zayn is so worried that Louis is going to come charging into the room to yell at him that he doesn’t pay any attention whatsoever to where he’s going and he runs into a large, solid torso as soon as he rounds the corner. He’s already spluttering apologies before he can step back and see who it is, and as soon as Liam smiles down at him Zayn feels his face get so hot he debates dunking his head in cooler on the kitchen table.

“Zayn!” Liam hiccups, immediately hooking an arm around Zayn’s shoulder in half a hug. There’s a bit of an awkward silence before Zayn replies, “Hi, Liam.”

Liam is either too drunk or too oblivious to notice how awkward the situation is. Zayn takes the boy’s moment of cluelessness to glance him over; outside of his coffee shop apron, Liam’s wearing his baseball jersey and hat with black skinny jeans that are practically hanging off his ass when he turns to put his beer on the counter, a large “PAYNE 17” stitched onto the back of his jersey.

“Listen. Zayn. Harry told me I should probably apologize,” Liam says seriously when he turns back to Zayn, his mouth slipping into an adorable pout as he tries to get his words together. “And I know Harry. Harry’s good at telling when people are upset. I mean, so am I, but Harry said you were _one of his kind_ , and then went off on some preach about free spirits and how they’re sensitive—not, I’m not saying you’re sensitive! It’s just—I didn’t mean to say anything wrong if you are sensitive. Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Liam is struggling so badly that Zayn can’t help but smile and wrap his own arm around Liam’s waist and it’s so easy to do, it’s _so easy_ ,  and Zayn’s not sure if he’s buzzing from the alcohol or the physical contact, but Zayn is smiling right back at Liam when he says, “it’s okay. I should be apologizing. I’m sorry for trying to turn your coffee shop into a therapy session.”

Liam grins and replies, “Harry does that on an everyday basis,” before he tightens his grip on Zayn and tugs him back into the living room, and instead of feeling nervous, Zayn feels safe. He feels anchored.

Zayn lets himself get drunk off Liam. Zayn is talking and laughing more than he has all semester, and it feels _good_. Zayn is craving a cigarette and Liam’s mouth, but Zayn rarely gives into his cravings so he keeps himself planted on the couch next to Liam.

“Are you allowed to be drinking if you’re on the baseball team?” Harry asks after he tripped his way over and fell across Zayn and Liam’s laps. Liam shrugs and downs the last of his beer. “Off-season, coach isn’t that concerned with what we do.”

Harry gives his friend a skeptical look and flops his head over Zayn’s knee. “Your friend Louis rejected me.”

Zayn tries not to laugh, covers it with a cough, and relents: “why?”

“He insulted my daisies and told me he preferred Emerson. And when I asked him why, he said because Emerson seems like a, and I quote, “pretty chill stoner”. And, like. How in the hell can you refer to one of the greatest transcendentalists in American History a ‘pretty chill stoner’? I tried to show him the error of his ways and he told me to fuck off. So I asked him on a date and he told me he’s more of a “fuck and run” type, and he doesn’t want a “dirty hippie like me ruining his focus”.” Harry sighs and sits up, drumming his fingers against Zayn’s thigh. “Severe truth is expressed with some bitterness.”

Liam scrubs a hand across his face and sighs. “Harry, ‘M too drunk to tell if that’s a quote or a nugget of your own brilliance.”

“That’s directly from Thoreau himself, my dear Liam! He’s right again! Thoreau is _always_ right. Now, I hate to drag you away from your true love, but we must be getting you home.”

Liam lets out a soft whine when Harry tries to drag the baseball player to his feet, but eventually he gives in and stands up, looking down at Zayn with a concerned expression. “You leaving soon?”

Zayn spares a glance around the room—Louis has a girl on his lap and two guys on either side of him, and he’s loudly explaining his plans for law school, and Niall is across the hall in the kitchen, wrapped in an intense game of beer pong. Zayn turns his gaze back to Liam’s, his eyes still looking like coffee, and autumn, and whiskey, and nods.

The three of them cling to each other as they stumble down the sidewalk, Harry singing some off-tune Springsteen song and Liam still resting his arm around Zayn’s shoulders and Zayn is still filled with warmth even though he can see his breath frosting in the air in front on him on every exhale. When they make it to the street corner where the dorms begin, Zayn fumbles for his keys and the other two wait patiently for him to extract them and fit them in the lock. “I had fun tonight,” Zayn says quietly, though he’s not really sure why he’s saying it. Nevertheless, Liam grins like he’s just won the lottery and Harry claps Zayn on the shoulder again, softer and more reassuring this time.  “We did too. Try to tell Louis that I’m not as silly as I sound.”

Liam and Zayn both give the disheveled boy a doubting look, and Harry’s face falls into a pout. “Well, _fine_. Tell him that I’ll listen to his lawyer-talk any day. Bye, muffin.”

And Zayn climbs the stairs to his and Niall’s dorm, exhausted and the buzz of alcohol fading away as he kicks off his boots and throws his jacket in the corner before falling face-first on his bed, feeling fuller and warmer than he has in a long time. And, as promised, Niall thumps into the dorm a few hours later, already asking, “can I sleep with you, Z?” as he nuzzles his face into Zayn’s neck and curls himself into the bed and Zayn pulls the covers back over the two of them. And it’s still that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not entirely sure where this is going, but i appreciate it if you're still reading! x


	3. iii.

_“I stop. I dream. I I make up things I would never say. I say them very quietly.” –richard siken_

Zayn’s drained from the frat house. He wakes up hungover and slightly homicidal, and he could kiss Niall for how quiet he’s being. And even though it’s nearly noon on a Saturday, Niall is propped up in his bed opposite Zayn, studying his Architecture II textbook with headphones in. Zayn flops an arm over the side of the bed, reaching blindly around until he feels the handle of the minifridge and pulls out what he hopes is a Gatorade bottle, without having to lift his face from the pillow to actually look. When he finally rolls over to crack the bottle open, Niall is watching him with an amused smirk.

“Were you drinking with Lou?” Niall asks carefully, brow raised, and Zayn flips him the finger before chugging half the Gatorade in one gulp. Louis has a tendency to get mixed up in doing tequila shots off of any and every body available, and Zayn pauses for a moment to remember gratefully that, no, he left with Harry and Liam before body shots could happen.

“Drank with Liam,” Zayn manages to grumble out around where he’s already pulling his blanket back up over his head. There’s silence for a moment before he hears Niall shift a little, and then he says, “’M glad you came with us, Zayn. Good to see you making friends.”

And whether it’s the hangover or not, something about Niall’s words prickle at Zayn’s sides like needles. Because it’s not Niall’s usual voice, soft and careful and proud, but this one is almost…condescending, as  if Niall is surprised that Zayn is capable of socializing without Niall there to hold his hand. But when Zayn pokes his head out from his cocoon of blankets, Niall is back to reading, so okay. Maybe it’s the hangover. Zayn sits up, downs the rest of his drink and then grabs his towel to shuffle down the hall to the showers, ignoring the feeling of Niall’s eyes lingering on his bare back as he goes.

He’s half-expecting Louis to be back in their dorm, as usual for their Saturday mornings, but it’s still just Niall tucked in bed, looking like he has no intention of moving.

“You want a coffee?” Zayn asks as he tugs on sweats and a sweater, really just looking for an excuse to smoke outside their dorm. Niall shakes his head, his eyes never leaving his textbook, and Zayn slips out of the room without another word.

Zayn tries, he really tries, to convince himself that a coffee from the student center café would be sufficient enough to get him through the rest of the day. But he can’t really say he’s surprised when his feet carry him straight past the student center and around the corner towards the bookstore, where Liam’s café branches out of the side of the building. It’s crowded, he can see through the doors, because it’s a dreary Saturday afternoon and the bookstore/café is the best place to hide out, other than the library. And crowds make Zayn think of last night, make him think of _Payne 17_ , make him think what if he _had_ stayed at the house with Louis, makes him think if he would’ve been able to convince Liam to do body shots of tequila with them, and by the time Zayn stubs out his second cigarette under his boot, his heart is in his throat.

Zayn’s eventual need for caffeine outweighs his anxieties, though, so he slips into the café, immediately slinking down the aisle of mugs and coffee beans. There’s a cute girl with long brown hair at the counter, and Zayn can’t help but smile a little to himself because it’s obviously that girl named Jade who Niall _definitely_ has a crush on. He’s almost relieved that Harry or Liam isn’t here, because hungover Zayn isn’t really capable of worrying about cute baseball players or flowerchildren who bake cupcakes on Thursday nights.

Jade gets close with his name, _Zane,_ and the chocolate chip muffin he gets isn’t as good as the ones Harry made, but it’s enough to make Zayn a little less hostile, and he tucks himself into the little table next to the window. He’s been doodling on a napkin for half an hour, drawings of little coffee mugs and daisies and sparrows and baseball diamonds, when there’s a loud clatter from behind the counter. And there’s Harry, trying to reach around Jade for a handful of sugar packets and sending an empty track clattering to the ground. Jade is trying to hide her laughter, swatting at Harry with a dishcloth until he disappears back into the kitchen. Zayn finds himself smiling down at his napkin, because it’s been barely a week but Zayn feels like he fits in easier with Harry and Liam than he’s felt fitting in around Niall and Louis in months. The muffled arguing from Harry and Jade in the kitchen is enough to make Zayn forget that he feels like shit. So, maybe he starts picking at his muffin a little slower just as an excuse to sit at his table long enough for Harry to notice him, when he trips back out of the kitchen with hands covered in cinnamon.

“Muffin!” he cries happily, and if Harry is anything like Niall, it’s that neither of them seem to be effected by alcohol’s side effects. Harry makes to climb over the counter to reach Zayn, but Jade smacks him with a dishcloth and Harry sulks like a puppy who’s just been scolded, and ducks under the little counter door instead.

“She has me well trained,” Harry says warmly once he’s slipped into the chair across from Zayn, and he throws Jade an affectionate grin. He’s sitting expectantly in front of Zayn, but when Zayn only gives him a tiny smile and continues to pick at his muffins Harry seems to get the hint that it’s not Zayn who’s going to be starting the conversation.

“Those muffins are shit,” Harry finally says, nodding down to the mess of crumbs on Zayn’s napkin. “Nick can’t bake _at all_. If I had known you’d be coming this morning, I would’ve baked a fresh batch, just for you.”

Zayn knows that this is just how Harry talks, even after three days of knowing him. Maybe because he’s so much like Niall, constantly flirtatious and eager to please. So he tells him, “You’d like my friend Niall.”

Harry perks up, leaning forward across the table and crooking a finger at Zayn, motioning for him to come closer. “Okay, but what about your friend _Lewis_?”

Zayn actually laughs. This is noteworthy because after a night of heavy drinking and socializing, it is nearly impossible to make Zayn Malik laugh or speak before at least 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Zayn is making friends with a possibly psychotic flower-child who illegally bakes in a college coffee shop.

“Um. Louis is…interesting?” Zayn allows, but there’s still a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth because any chance that he and Louis get to fuck with each other, they’ll take it. “He wants to be a lawyer or something, so he’s really…stubborn. To put it nicely.”

Harry considers this for a while, rubbing his chin and looking like a cartoon character, with his unruly hair falling over the sides of his face without his bandana to hold it back. Zayn has started drawing a little cartoon Harry on his napkin when the other boy speaks up, “Does Louis like baked pastries?”

Zayn’s full-out grinning now, but he doesn’t look up from his doodling when he answers, “Well…Louis likes pastries when _he_ is baked, yes.”

Harry goes back to thinking, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I can work with that,” he finally concludes, and then reaches across the table and breaks off a chunk of Zayn’s muffin. “So, Liam kept asking about you when I walked him home last night.”

Zayn doesn’t usually rise to take the bait, because usually it’s Louis who’s baiting him, and Louis only teases people with information when he expects things in return. Harry, though, starts the statement and trails off, as if he intends to finish the story in his syrupy-slow voice, and Zayn looks up to finally meet his eyes.

Harry grins and claps his hands together, leaning forward again like they’re gossiping middle schoolers. “He was drunk as a skunk, so his filters were pretty much gone, but he was very happy that you forgave him, or whatever happened the other night that got you all worked up. He was also confused as to why you’re not doing art anymore.” Harry pauses and looks pointedly down at Zayn’s doodle-covered napkin with raised eyebrows before continuing, “he’s too chicken shit to ask you to come to the opening game for the baseball season, and he’s _also_ too chicken shit to tell you that he has a massively gay crush on you.” Harry says it all very matter-of-factly, leaning back in his seat and nodding to himself, obviously satisfied that he got to share all of his best friend’s drunken secrets with someone.

It’s all…a lot for Zayn to process. Because Zayn has been invisible on campus since his arrival here freshman year, and now Harry tells him that Liam has always noticed him?

Harry must mistake Zayn’s silence for something belligerent, and he sits forward and narrows his eyes so quickly that it throws Zayn’s thought process off completely. “And if you’re not into guys, that’s cool, but if you start shit about Liam or treat him any differently than any other human being, you can be sure that the next pastry you eat from this café _will_ be spiked with rat poison.”

“No!” Zayn blurts in a half-laugh, and then it’s Harry who looks confused when Zayn rushes to say, “No, no, it’s not that. I…him being a guy is a non-issue.”

“Oh. Good,” Harry says, his face splitting into a grin as he settles back into his seat, his murderous expression gone so fast Zayn wonders if he had just imaged the threat. “So, get married.”

“Don’t think it really works like that in college, Harry,” Zayn mumbles, adding little flowers around cartoon Harry’s head.

“So drop out and come on my roadtrip with me. We can totally stop in Vegas, if an Elvis-wedding is a secret kink of yours or something.”

Zayn feels his anxiety bubbling up in his belly for no real distinguishable reason. Maybe because Harry is so blasé about everything—sexuality, drinking, major life-decisions—or maybe the shock of _Liam has a massively gay crush on you_ is still processing in Zayn’s head, but this is more than he was hoping to face on a Saturday afternoon.

“’S a bit complicated, though,” Zayn mumbles, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands and slumping in his seat.

“Why?”

Zayn tries futilely to put a sound argument together in his mind, but he can’t. Because he _knows_ that it should be easy, just like it was last night when Liam put his arm around Zayn. It should be easy, because it was easy with Niall. And then Zayn remembers his open sketchbook Niall must have looked at, remembers that Niall didn’t come here to get coffee the other morning, remembers the subtle tone of aggression in Niall’s voice this morning. Zayn makes everything difficult for himself. “I’ve got some…protective friends.”

Harry scoffs and plucks the napkin out from under Zayn’s pen to examine the little cartoon version of himself that’s drawn into the thin paper. “Lighten up, Zayn,” Harry tells him with a smile as he gets up, taking the napkin with him on his way back to the kitchen, “how bad could they be?”

*

“Where the fuck have you been?” are the first words that Louis blurts when Zayn slides back into his dorm. Zayn shoots Niall a somewhat desperate look, but he’s too absorbed in his game of Assassin’s Creed to save Zayn now.

“I was at the café giving that hippy boy your phone number, address, and social security number,” Zayn shoots back, the caffeine in his system the only thing giving him enough confidence to try and banter with a pissed off, hungover Louis Tomlinson.

Louis glowers at Zayn until Zayn offers him a cigarette, and the shorter boy takes it with a dejected sigh. “You know I don’t like rejecting nice people, Zee. Don’t send nice cute flower boys over to me at parties.”

“Here’s a wild thought, Lou. You could…talk to him?” Niall pipes up, sending a wink over his shoulder at Zayn before turning back to his game. “Go get yourself a nice boy and go drink all of _his_ mini-fridge energy drinks.”

“And leave you two to fend for yourselves on this treacherous campus? I don’t think so, Horan.”

Niall’s smile is so slight that only Zayn really notices it once Louis has propped open the room’s window, lit his cigarette, and turned his attention back to watching the game Niall is playing.  Niall works in subtleties like this, diffusing LouisandZayn tension (or disapproving of Zayn making other friends or being weary of the elusive Liam Payne that has caught Zayn’s attention over the last week). Everything about Niall is easy and simple and Zayn misses it, a little. He misses that summer and misses not feeling sad or anxious all the time. So, maybe he lied to Harry when he said the only problem was his friends being over-protective. But college relationships are new and scary and so, _so_ foreign to Zayn. He’s only ever fallen easily into a routine with Niall, without labels or descriptions or explanations. Niall is the last shred of stability and familiarity Zayn’s got in college, and he absolutely cannot lose that. He’s not going to risk losing that just because some cute baseball player has a crush on him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm projecting in this fic. a lot. oops.  
> I have no idea how long this is going to be or where it's going to go, i just hope someone out there can relate to zayn's (uh, my) struggles with growing up and finding where you fit best in the world.  
> comments/kudos are very appreciated! x


End file.
